Knotted, gnarled, bruised and cut
Fingers missing and hands no better
Bandaged where raw, torn and sore,
These then are the hands of a leper.
She uses her hands like any of us
They’ve been with her for oh so long
Though the sight of them now disgusts her,
Hands that once caressed and righted wrong.
Now bereft of beauty or touch
An appendage with little feel.
At times she looks at them hoping
That someday they may heal.
We try to stay away from them
No family, these rejects of society,
There are others to take care of them
Most certainly not our responsibility.
But the pain and anguish in every finger
Is a pointer for us, a simple reminder
That we have to reach out, to touch another
For God also resides, in the hands of the leper.
God resides in the hands of the leper.......... yes so true.... in every poor man and the sick who are not cared for and who are doomed to live on the streets begging, , , , , , , God is with them..... and we have to reach to them... it is our call. thank you for reminding us of our responsibilities......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A heartfelt creation with a call for universal brotherhood of man. Very heartfelt with strong emotions. Thanks for sharing.